


Sinners to Repentance

by linndechir



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Knifeplay, M/M, Masturbation, Religious Guilt, Sadism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:27:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25513546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linndechir/pseuds/linndechir
Summary: It had been a beautiful moment of love and communion, when Joseph had asked John to carve his sins into his skin and help him atone for them. But John's mind was full of sins of his own, and he couldn't stop thinking about his brother's pained moans and the blood on his skin.
Relationships: John Seed/Joseph Seed
Comments: 1
Kudos: 26





	Sinners to Repentance

John should have known he was still a sinner at heart.

He’d tried so hard to cleanse himself of it all – the selfishness, the self-indulgence, the drinking, the drugs, the sex, every carnal pleasure he’d forced into his body in the vain hope of filling the emptiness of his soul. Nothing had ever worked, not until Joseph had found him. Saved him. Taken him in. And John had been doing so well. They’d been praying together every day, and John had been overcoming his weaknesses and his selfish desires in the light and warmth of Joseph’s love. But it had been pride, that darkest of all sins, to think himself _cured_.

His skin was too tight, crawling and itching as if his soul was trying to burst out of him. He was sweating and freezing at the same time, and after tossing and turning in bed for hours, only interrupting himself for a few cold showers, his eyes were burning with tears and exhaustion. But every time he closed them, the same view awaited him.

Joseph stretched out beneath him. Shirtless, his skin bared to John’s gaze as John straddled his hips. His back a beautiful, smooth canvas – unmarked by the scars that John and Jacob had carried home from their trials. Joseph’s martyrdom had been of the soul, not the body. He was beautiful and perfect and John had wanted to crawl inside him, to hide in Joseph’s chest and wrap around his loving heart and breathe the very air that filled those lungs. Joseph was so pure in his faith that even John’s sinfulness couldn’t taint him.

“Your soul is still suffering, John, because you look inside too much,” Joseph had said to him earlier that day. He’d cradled John’s head so tenderly, stroked his hair and squeezed the back of his neck. “All you think about is your own sin and how to scrape it off your soul. And as important as that is, true forgiveness is found when helping others. When you turn your fervour outwards, towards sharing and giving. Helping others achieve atonement. Only then will you be free of sin.”

When he had stepped back, John had already ached with the loss of his touch. Nothing could soothe the prickling of his skin like Joseph’s hands. But then Joseph had drawn a knife and placed it into John’s hands – the grip rough and worn, the blade sharpened to perfection. One of Jacob’s, no doubt. 

“Help me atone, John,” Joseph had said. “Let us unburden ourselves together, let us share the pain that shall set us both free.”

John had said yes. He’d never wanted to say yes to anything in his life with such eagerness. It was good to remember, that even Joseph wasn’t entirely free of sin – that even he struggled with impure thoughts that needed to be cut out and burnt and banished.

So John had looked down at Joseph’s unblemished skin and fought down the part of himself that thought hurting the man who’d saved his soul was a sin, and reminded himself that this was an act of service, of love. That Joseph _needed_ him, just as John needed Joseph. That there was salvation to be found in confining the sin into that word, that wound, so the soul could heal from it – just as Joseph had done with him when he’d helped John carve that very first word into his chest. _Sloth._ Not laziness, no, but dejection, despondency, that selfish sadness that devoured the soul. John’s true sin, far more so than greed and lust and wrath. And as the wounds had healed and scarred, John had finally felt joy again.

He’d felt joy then, too, as he put Jacob’s knife to use. Four letters Joseph had asked for – the last sin John would have expected of him, but Joseph had insisted. Had said that while he hadn’t lain with anyone since his wife’s death, his mind was still plagued by unnatural, sinful desires. He hadn’t elaborated, but oh, John couldn’t imagine that they were half as unnatural as what he was feeling now.

As he envisioned it again – that first red cut on pale flesh, the blood oozing out as soon as the knife broke skin – John’s cock inevitably hardened. He almost wanted to scream, in shame and frustration and rage. It had been a beautiful moment, of communion, of love, and his sinful mind turned it into _this_. He’d spent all night trying to resist and he was so very tired of it, so very tired of pretending he could be strong.

He finally wrapped his hand around his cock and that simple gesture already sent a jolt of pleasure through his nerves. They had prayed together as John had done God’s work on his brother’s skin – Joseph leading at first, but speaking had become harder for him by the time the first letter was done, and John had taken over. His own voice had been hoarse and breathless and he only hoped that Joseph had heard nothing but ecstasy and devotion in it. He had felt those things, without a doubt. But he had felt other things as well, things even Joseph would have found hard to forgive..

Joseph had twitched in pain and John had pinned him down more firmly, straddling Joseph’s hips, his thighs pressing against Joseph’s sides. He hadn’t had anyone between his legs in – ever since Joseph had found him. There had been a time when John hadn’t been able to go a single day without a mouth on his cock or a cock up his ass, and preferably both. When he rarely managed to sleep unless he’d found someone to use his body first. Now it had been months and his flesh still longed for the loveless lust he’d subjected it to. At least he loved his brother, though he doubted that made these thoughts any less sinful.

“Just breathe,” John had whispered, leaning down until his lips almost touched Joseph’s ear. There was a mad thrill to that, to comforting Joseph, guiding him, to offering him peace when all John had ever done until then was take and take from him. “There’s relief in pain, but you must embrace it. Feel it. Don’t become numb to it, but let it sink in. Let it burn through you.”

Joseph’s breath had stuttered and he’d gasped when John had caressed the long line of that L on his back. That sound would haunt John to the end of his days, had echoed through it mind for hours now – he squeezed his cock, almost punishingly hard. What did he know about cleansing pain if he even sullied the memory of this beautiful moment? Maybe he should cut his cock, carve that same word into it, LUST LUST LUST over and over again until there was no more pleasure to be found in his flesh. But Joseph wouldn’t want him to, he would insist that John was punishing himself too harshly. Joseph never wanted that. His heart was too full of love, too full of forgiveness. He couldn’t bear it when John hurt himself in anger rather than out of love.

John did not deserve his brother’s gentleness, for here he lay, his eyes closed in the dark as he stroked his cock almost frantically. Joseph had promised to hold still, and thanked him so tenderly even as his voice broke, and John had continued. Another letter, and this one too he’d caressed when he was done. Joseph had almost screamed then and John had had to shift so his brother wouldn’t notice him harden. After that Joseph had bitten his lip and he’d whimpered and moaned as John slowly cut line after line into his flesh. He’d gasped for breath and still tried to whisper along with John’s prayers, and John had never heard anything so sweet in his life as that pain he inflicted in righteousness and service. Oh, he’d hurt people before – though not as often as he’d let them hurt him – but it had been as meaningless as the cocks that had pierced every hole in his body and opened and filled him and yet left him empty. This was different – this pain served a glorious purpose, and even if his sin tried to besmirch it, he knew that he’d done something truly _good_.

The curved line of the S finally brought tears to Joseph’s eyes, running over his cheek and into his beard. John’s heart swelled with joy, and as he pressed his palm against the newly carved letters, he leant down again and kissed them from the corner of Joseph’s eye.

“Say yes,” he whispered. Joseph had smiled and said, “yes” without even a hint of doubt or fear or hesitation, and John had never loved him more. Joseph had always understood the power of yes. John thought he’d been crying too when he cut the T into Joseph’s back, but he’d blinked the tears away because he did not want this image to blur in his mind.

He’d been a fool. Maybe if he’d let himself cry, the sight wouldn’t have been seared into his mind as it was now. Four bleeding letters, the skin around them reddened, the quick movement of Joseph’s flanks as he was panting in pain, the raptured smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. He’d looked so peaceful, so relieved, so free. And John had done that. John had given him that peace. John, with all his weakness and sin, had managed to offer someone else atonement – and not just anyone, but the very man God had chosen to hear His word.

John covered his mouth with his left hand when he came, the pleasure tearing through him with such intensity that his heart seemed to burst out of his chest. It had been so hard to pull away from Joseph. To stop himself from rubbing against him, from thinking about what it would look like if he came over Joseph’s back, red blood and white come mixing together and running pink, and John would have licked and kissed every drop of it off Joseph’s skin while moaning prayers into the hot air between them.

Instead he’d stood up so quickly he almost stumbled, and he’d helped Joseph sit up, and he’d shivered when Joseph pulled him into a tender embrace and kissed his hair and thanked him again. They’d sat together for a long time after that, John’s face pressed against Joseph’s neck as they prayed together and Joseph’s love had once again driven the sin off his mind, reminded him of the good he’d done. All the good he could still do, all the people he could help if he thought less about himself and more about them, about the sweet atonement he could offer them at the end of a blade. Joseph had comforted him without asking why John was shaking in his arms, and for once John had been too weak to volunteeer a confession. 

Now he rubbed his hand against his thigh, disgusted by the mess he’d made and the thoughts that had caused it. No, he wouldn’t cut himself there, but he would have to take a knife to himself again. Maybe his thigh, or his arm. Maybe he too could exorcise that awful lust from his soul. And if that failed, maybe he’d go and see Jacob – let him take John onto one of those hunting trips of his, days and nights in the cold and the mud and the harshness of nature. John found it surprisingly satisfying, the pain and the discomfort that served a purpose, and the cool approval in Jacob’s eyes when John never gave up, never complained, never asked him to slow down. The feeling of Jacob’s strong shoulder under his cheek when they slept at night, with the other’s body the only source of warmth and comfort Jacob would permit. Yes, maybe John should spend some time with him, and hopefully that would cleanse his soul of those dark thoughts if nothing else could.

For if he stayed here, if he kept thinking about the sounds Joseph had made in raptured suffering, if he kept looking at the marks on Joseph’s back … then he did not think even Joseph’s love could save his soul.


End file.
